


Too Much

by keithsgaycousin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithsgaycousin/pseuds/keithsgaycousin
Summary: A day in the life of Lance McClain.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during my biology lecture.

* * *

His eyes open to stare at the ceiling. He’s tangled in blankets and pillows and gifted stuffed animals that begin to make him overheat.

It’s too hot.

He kicks his legs out from underneath the cocoon, slowly gaining more and more consciousness. His mind yells at him to go back to bed—get a few more minutes of sleep. 

A deep inhale and an even deeper exhale as he stretches his aching body. He might have overdone it at the training arena yesterday... no one was there to stop him, anyway.

Right foot.

Left foot.

A pause.

He rests on the side of his bed for a bit and stares at the sleek, metal flooring underneath his feet. A deep inhale…and an even deeper exhale. He finally finds his bearings and stands.

It’s dark; his eyes still needing to adjust. He reaches for the lamp switch on his night stand and tries not to knock over the empty glass, once full of water. He turns on the light.

It’s too bright.

The birds are loudly chirping and singing their songs. It doesn’t sit right in his ears. It’s too loud. It’s too loud and too pretty and too happy for a time like this.

A deep inhale.

An even deeper exhale.

He walks over to the other side of his room, passing picture frames filled with smiles and laughter and too much brightness. Picture frames filled with images impossible to recreate. He doesn’t look at them. He hasn’t looked at them.

They’re too bright. Too happy.

He lights a match and eyes the flame for a bit; watching it slowly work its way up itself. Burning and burning; inching closer and closer to his fingertips. He likes the initial warmth—discomfort soon following as the fire begins to burn his skin. He keeps it there for some time. Orange on brown.

This pain. Is this the last thing he had felt? Not love. Not hope...but pain…and fear?

He carefully blows out the match. He strikes another and lights a candle immediately. This time, he extinguishes the flame in disinterest. His eyes never leaving the light.

He moves to the bathroom connected to his room and stares at the ghost in front of himself; deep purple rings around his eyes, knotted hair, and a hollow look in his eyes. He turns away.

It’s too much for Lance to look at.

*****

He’s brushing his teeth when he hears his third alarm go off. He sighs.

_‘Get up. Meeting at 1:30 PM.’_

He closes his eyes, toothbrush still in mouth, and lets out a frustrated grunt.

He’s not ready yet.

It’s too soon.

____________________________

He makes it to the meeting on time; his grey uniform neatly clinging to his exhausted body. He sits himself in-between two other pilots. He sees Pidge sitting confidently with her notebook across from him; her father and brother are sitting at her side. Her hair is longer and looks more stressed than normal. She notices Lance and gives him a strained smile. He nods in return.

Krolia and a couple other Blade members are sitting not too far from Pidge. Her eyes are unfocused and staring blankly ahead. Kolivan lightly taps her arm after a while, bringing her back to reality. She looks over at Lance and shares the same tired expression.

Lance feels another set of eyes land on him; a figure to Kolivan’s left. It’s a taller person in uniform, their features already etched into Lance’s mind. An awfully unforgettable face and eyes and voice—Lance shakes his head in anger. He knows it’s not the Blade’s fault. He knows it.

He knows it.

He knows it.

He knows it, but he will never be able to face that person again.

____________________________

That night, he has dinner with Krolia. They don’t talk much, but they do end up eating some chicken and rice. Nothing too complicated. They both don’t have the energy to make anything more. They give each other hugs when Lance leaves.

____________________________

_It hurts._

_It hurts really bad._

_Lance looks down and sees a dagger lodged into his own chest. There’s too much blood. His thoughts are swirling and his head is pounding. He needs to do something._

_Suddenly, he hears someone calling his name—scared. Frantic. Broken._

_That voice. He knows that voice; he’s heard it almost everyday since he was a teenager years and years ago. His body is attuned to it; suddenly sparking fear in his own head. Something is wrong._

_****_

_Lance is now falling through space.The dagger and blood are gone, but the pain is still there. He sees the old Castle of Lions—there’s hope for survival. He turns on his jetpack. It’s damaged, but still operational. Relief begins to wash over him. He sees his crew-mates, his team, his family. They’re waiting for his return._

_As he gets closer and closer to the Castle, he notices that something is off with their expressions. There’s Hunk and Pidge and Shiro and Coran and Allura—_

_Where’s Keith?_

_He shouts for him._

_Where is he?_

_No one gives him a response._

_****_

_He’s now standing in the middle of a war zone—hundreds of Zarkon’s troop members and drones gaining advantage over him. There’s a druid, much bigger in size than normal. Lance knows he can’t win. He looks around in order to gain a sense of where he is._

_That’s when he sees him._

_Keith._

_He’s swinging his sword; killing everything in sight.The over-sized druid’s attention is now drawn to the black haired paladin. They both charge at each other. Lance lets out a shout. He is screaming for Keith to get out of there. He’s yelling and screaming and shouting, but nothing is coming out. His voice isn’t working._

_Keith continues swinging and dodging the Druid’s attacks, but Lance knows something is wrong—his movements are too erratic and his swings are striking a second too slow. He won’t win._

_Now Keith is yelling something to him. He can’t hear him, though. He’s too far away._

_“Go. Leave me here.”_

_Lance tries to shout back—tell him he’s crazy for thinking he would leave him._

_It’s too late._

_Lance watches when the Druid’s lightening strikes through Keith’s body._

_Lance can’t scream._

_****_

_Lance jerks awake; his body covered in sweat. There is a strong arm wrapped around him and another rubbing small circles on his back; two dark eyes staring at him in concern. He tries to calm his breathing._

_A deep inhale; full of the smells of sweat and tears, but also Keith and his warmth._

_An even deeper exhale; to shake off the built up anxiety._

_“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is low and deep. Calming. Lance relaxes into the other man’s touch._

_“I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”_

_They lean completely on each other; Lance presses his face to the other’s chest, while Keith runs his hands delicately through Lance’s hair. He inhales the other man’s scent, truly exhaling the rest of the fear. He holds on tighter._

_“Get some rest, love.” A small kiss is pressed to Lance’s temple._

______________________________

Lance awakens slowly—gaining consciousness against his will. It’s quiet as he looks over to his side; the calming presence gone. He buries his face in his pillow.

It felt so real.

It felt _too_ real. 

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He hates how his mind does that to him—it sends him constant reminders of how his life used to be. He hates how his mind brings him back. He’s selfish. He wants the real thing. 

He wants him back. He needs him back.

He needs him here.

_He hates this. He hates this. He hates this_.

The usual, slow pain blooms in his chest and his heart feels as empty as his bed.

It’s too cold.

He tucks his legs into the cocoon. His mind yelling at him to go back to bed—to try and get a few more minutes of sleep. This time, he obliges— Hoping and praying he can have a few more minutes with his husband.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.


End file.
